He Wants My Soul
by lazyprojector
Summary: Bertolt Hoover is trying to not embarrass himself in front of the friend of his old high school friend Marco Bott. But battling with his thoughts may prove to be a challenge when it comes to his meeting with the too cool Jean Kirstein. This is a prequel story to my other story Hardly Mine.


Bertolt Hoover hates meeting people for the first time. He's the kind of person who wants to stay in his comfort zone. Sometimes that means never going out of his apartment unless he absolutely needs to, and other times it means dependency on benzodiazepines before he's remotely okay with a situation. He admits that all of these things about him make him crazy, and he's fine with that. He's just not sure if everyone else is fine with that.

Reiner wasn't fine with that. Reiner was and is Bertolt's best friend since childhood. He is also one of the few people Bertolt has actually dated. Their dating timeline could be best described as tumultuous and train-wrecky at best. Part of that, Bertolt would fault on himself. Bertolt acknowledges that he is self-loathing and has some of the lowest self-esteem a person can have. He can't imagine having a person being in love with him. Reiner loved him, and he couldn't handle it. Bertolt only sort of loved Reiner, and he didn't have the heart or mind to say it to a person he was afraid to lose. Ignoring that just made things worse, and they broke up. So Bertolt is scared of being a fuck-up like he knows he is.

Fucking things up isn't necessarily Bertolt's specialty. But it could be. At least, this is what he thinks as he is pulling a t-shirt over his head and looking himself in the mirror. He's meeting with his old high school friend Marco and Marco's college friend- some guy he's only heard about in passing from Marco whenever they update each other about their lives. He doesn't want to look like the unwashed hipster that he knows he is, especially when he's about to meet someone for the first time. Alas, Bertolt looks in the mirror and loathes the deep v-neck t-shirt and skinny jeans wearing kind of guy that he is. He puts on a cardigan and scarf for good measure- as if he needs to cement this image and present himself as normal in front of a stranger.

Bertolt is waiting outside of the coffee shop that Marco said to meet him at. Like usual, Bertolt is either too early or Marco is too late. Bertolt looks at his watch and notes that he is precisely on time. As he shuffles near the door, he notices a guy standing around next to him, looking bored and slightly pissed off. He's really hot, Bertolt notes. Sort of his type- not too tall and lean but not too skinny with just enough muscle on him, he's definitely not Reiner. He certainly didn't dress like Reiner with his fitted short-sleeved button up, buttoned up to the top with the sleeves slightly rolled, skinny jeans, and a bright red beanie that reminded Bertolt of _The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou_. He is definitely too cool for Bertolt. He takes out a cigarette from his pocket and lights up. He peers from his hands at Bertolt. He blows smoke and stares at Bertolt more obviously.

"Hey… you're not waiting for someone. Are you?" the guy says.

"Um…"

Bertolt isn't even sure if he can even say something remotely cohesive.

"You're Marco's friend?" he says as if he thinks Bertolt is sort of deaf.

"Yeah…"

"So you're… Bert? Is that your name?"

"Bertolt. It's Bertolt."

"Cool… I'm Jean."

"John?"

"No, no. _Jean_."

The way Jean rolls his name off his tongue with that slightly more obvious French pronunciation makes Bertolt smile. It's kind of hot to Bertolt- hotter than whenever he ever slightly lets out his own German accent, which sounds ridiculous and stupid all at once. It's partially why Bertolt refuses to speak unless he has to.

"Sorry…" Bertolt says.

"It's not a big deal. Everyone mishears me. You smoke?" Jean says.

"Sometimes when I'm drinking."

Jean pulls out a cigarette and offers it to Bertolt. Shakily, Bertolt takes the cigarette and puts it to his lips. Jean just lights the cigarette without thinking. Bertolt can't imagine ever doing that. Not to anyone- especially not to someone he finds attractive, but then again, he forgets that Jean probably doesn't think anything about him.

"Marco said he'd be here now… You want to just go somewhere else? I kind of fucking hate this coffee shop. The staff are the worst," Jean says.

"Is that okay?" Bertolt says.

"Yeah. He's probably stuck at work anyway. You like music?"

Bertolt just nods, trying to look cool as fuck when he's really depending on the nicotine and anti-anxiety medication to battle it out and just make him calm enough to not freak out Jean. The truth is, Bertolt is extremely excited at the question. He wants to bounce off of walls and just spout a million different things about the bands he loves even though he knows his music obsession is probably too much for anyone else.

"There's this record store around the block. Not as good as Stacks, but I think it's decent enough," Jean says.

Bertolt's ears perk when he hears Jean mention Stacks, his favorite record store and the one where he occasionally picks up hours at.

"You like Stacks?" Bertolt says.

"Yeah, the used selection is crazy insane. I've never seen one like it," Jean says.

"I work there. Sometimes. I've never seen you, but I don't work there much."

"Yeah?"

Jean stands back and stares down Bertolt. He smirks as he puts a thumb to his chin and nods.

"I think I've seen you, maybe once," Jean says.

"Probably not. I'm always putting records away…" Bertolt says.

"Maybe it wasn't you. Either way, it's cool you work there. I'd love to work in a record store, but I'd probably blow my paycheck on records. You know?"

Bertolt sort of chuckles. The sound that comes out of his mouth sounds kind of strange, and Bertolt is embarrassed that he sounds as ridiculous as he does. He hopes that Jean doesn't pick up on this kind of stuff. It doesn't appear like it as Jean kind of smiles and takes one last drag of his cigarette.

"So what kind of music do you like?" Jean asks.

"That's a hard question," Bertolt says.

"Well… how about, what are you listening to now?"

"Um… I really like Spoon and The National. But I like other stuff too, like Paul Simon. I know everyone says they like Paul Simon these days…"

Jean just laughs, and Bertolt is mortified like Jean is just going to make fun of him for his love of Paul Simon, an artist he's loved since he was a child.

"One of my favorite songs is 'Graceland'," Jean says.

"Oh. That one is good. I really love 'I'd Do It For Your Love'. That's my favorite song of his," Bertolt says.

"Nice. That's a great song."

"You know it?"

"Yeah. Pretty well. I think I wore off my copy of _Still Crazy After All These Years_. I've listened to it a bit."

"So you listen to that?"

"And a lot of mopey shit. I like The Smiths, Bon Iver, and Wilco."

"Wilco isn't always mopey…"

"Yeah but you're not exactly going to start a party with mid-tempo rock music either."

Bertolt laughs out loud to this, like really loud to the point that he can feel how red his face is. He's a little embarrassed that his laugh sounds just stupid, but Jean just smiles and stuffs his hands pockets like he's all bashfully proud of making Bertolt laugh.

"So um… you still want to go to that record store?" Jean asks.

"Yeah, sure. I mean, if you want to go there," Bertolt says.

"Well I'm asking you. Do you want to go?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, you."

"Sure, I mean if it's no big deal to you."

Jean sighs and tugs Bertolt's hand.

"You're the kind of guy that doesn't like to say exactly what you want. Aren't you? Like you're too nice to say it," Jean says.

"Not all the time…" Bertolt says.

"It's cool with me. We don't have to go to the record store. You probably want to wait for Marco. Even though…"

Jean grabs his phone from his front pocket. He looks at the screen and shakes his head.

"Always fucking late. The guy is nice as all get out, but he can't be on time to save his life. Look at this text he sent. 'Just a couple minutes behind. Be there in a few.' That was sent… like twenty minutes ago," Jean says.

Jean is uncomfortably close to Bertolt. He probably doesn't mean to. Bertolt just wants to collapse in on himself being next to Jean. Jean's hand is over his, with his thumb grazing Bertolt's hand. Bertolt isn't sure if it's intentional and if it's even normal to be hot and bothered by something so insignificant. As Bertolt contemplates this, Jean's hand is gone, and Jean looks like he's going to leave. Bertolt is disappointed. He counts this as just another one of those times where he got his hopes too high about a guy. Hell, he doesn't even know if this guy likes other guys or if his relationship with Marco is more serious than Marco let's on because Bertolt never knows with Marco. Marco downplays everything like some fake humble shit. All these thoughts make Bertolt feel like he's absolutely crazy because he can't even tell this guy he's remotely into him without freaking out when all he really needs to do is just say something.

"So Marco's not coming?" Bertolt says.

"Probably not," Jean says.

"Oh… then maybe I'll get going."

"Got something else?"

"No… just going back to my place."

"You live near here?"

"Sort of. It's just a couple minutes by bus."

"I see."

"You can come over if you want… if you're not busy. I think I have beer or whatever."

"Whatever?"

"Yeah… whatever."

Jean laughs and shrugs. He smiles in a way that reminds Bertolt of some song. He can't quite put his name on the song, but he's pretty sure that even if he can't remember the song, he could find one eventually. Bertolt doesn't know this yet, but he will find many songs that he will use to describe everything about Jean. And someday he will make a mix tape of these songs and give it to Jean.

"Sure. I've got time," Jean says.

The two of them take the bus back to Bertolt's place, and Bertolt is freaked out that he forgot his place is pretty much a disaster zone. For one, it looks like no human being has inhabited the space for decades. If it weren't for some bills on the counter, one could question whether or not Bertolt actually squatted in the apartment. There's a few pieces of furniture that Bertolt salvaged from curbs and one small TV he got from a friend. Bertolt rushes to his room to shut the door so Jean can't see into that piece of his world. Luckily, Jean doesn't seem to be fazed and just walks out to the balcony.

"Your place is way nicer than Marco's and my place. Shit, I bet you don't pay much for rent," Jean says.

"Yeah… it's pretty cheap. It's not the greatest of neighborhoods though…" Bertolt says.

Bertolt isn't kidding when he says this. Though he has never had a run in, he's heard of people getting robbed and stuff. He credits his luck so far to the fact that he's mainly invisible and that anytime he's with someone, it's usually Reiner. And no one in their right mind would fuck with a guy that looks like Reiner despite the fact that he's actually too soft.

"You live with Marco?" Bertolt says.

"Yeah," Jean says.

Bertolt is disappointed but not necessarily surprised at the revelation. All of this is a long shot in the first place.

"It's not bad, but I wish rent was cheaper. You know? I make shit money," Jean says.

"What do you do?" Bertolt asks.

"Just temp work at the moment. Obviously not what I want to do right at the moment, but I don't know what I actually want to do with my life…"

"Me either. I mean… I have sort of an idea of what I would want to do, but it's kind of impossible."

Jean nudges Bertolt and grins.

"Come on, it's probably not any worse than my dream," Jean says.

"No… it's really bad," Bertolt says.

"It can't be that bad. Look, what I really want to do with my life, if I really had a choice, is to have a band. Like just making music for a living. That's all I want to do."

Bertolt wants to kiss Jean badly when he makes this declaration. He doesn't want to jinx anything though. After all, Bertolt knows that Jean is with Marco. That ship has sailed in Bertolt's book.

"That's really cool… Actually… it's my dream too," Bertolt says.

"Really? You're not shitting me. Are you?" Jean says.

Bertolt shakes his head and shyly looks away from Jean.

"Like… I write some stuff already, but it's far from perfect or anything," Bertolt says.

"You should play it for me some time. I'd like to hear it," Jean says.

"No… it's not good yet. I can't let people hear it yet."

"Then… can you tell me what it sounds like?"

"What it sounds like? I guess it's sort of depressing. Not depressing, depressing, but it's not the happiest. I'm not exactly the happiest guy. So what I write isn't like indie pop or something. I've been listening to The National a lot lately. So I guess that might explain it. That and the amount of times I've listened to Bob Dylan's _Blood on the Tracks_. I guess I'm… lame."

"Are you kidding me?"

"What?"

"Lame? You've got to be shitting me. I've just met you, and I think you're amazing. Some of the people Marco tries to introduce me to are about the worst people ever, but you're the opposite. You're so fucking cool."

"I'm not."

"Yeah you are. If I could afford to live by myself, I would. I wouldn't even care if I were making shit money working at a record store then because I would be surrounded by the thing I love. And you actually write music, not just sit around thinking about it and hoping something works."

"It's not that big of a deal. You can do all those things too."

"Yeah, but you're doing them right now. It just makes me wish I wasn't so fucking scared to do the things I want to do… but I am. So you are cool, way cool. Plus… you're pretty hot."

Bertolt coughed at Jean's words. Jean wouldn't look at Bertolt. He just stared away at something else and blushed furiously with puffed out cheeks.

"What about Marco?" Bertolt said.

"What about him?" Jean said.

"Aren't you two… together?"

"He's my room mate, not my boyfriend."

"Oh. That makes sense."

"Please just tell me I'm not stupid for trying with you though. Do you like guys… you know… in that kind of way…"

"I do."

"Shit… And you're not… seeing anyone?"

"No."

"Perfect. Then I can do this."

Jean pulls Bertolt to him by his scarf. He kisses Bertolt roughly- the kind of way that is so desperate it might have actually been lonely. Jean tastes of cigarettes, cheap beer, and the slightest bit earthy- like tea. He smells better, clearly of expensive cologne and some sort of minty shampoo. The kiss changes from its aggressive start to something as passionate but slow and deep. Bertolt remembers having a girlfriend telling him that he always did this- like he needed to rein in affection so that it was as quiet and unassuming as he was. When Jean pulls away to breathe, he stares up into Bertolt's eyes with his mouth slightly open like he's too blissed out. Bertolt wonders if this is what Jean looks like when he comes because he thinks it's intriguing, and it makes him want to see what that face looks like even more.

"I need to tell you something," Jean says.

"Yeah. What is it?" Bertolt says.

"I'm a bit of a fuck up. I've ruined pretty much ever relationship I've ever been in, and I'll probably ruin whatever it is that this is- even if it's a one night stand… Especially if it's a one night stand."

"Same."

Jean smirks.

"Then I'm in good company," Jeans says.

Bertolt nods and takes Jean by the hand. He leads Jean to his bedroom. His room is cavern like and almost completely dark despite it being late in the afternoon. Some people assume Bertolt is part vampire because of this, but he just can't sleep without the darkness. His bed sits on the floor- just a bed no bed frames or box springs. He prefers this because of how awkwardly he sleeps. Before this, he kept falling off his bed and showing up to places with unexplained bruises. His record player, stereo system, and record collection take up one wall. Jean marvels over this and is pulling out records but apologizing after taking some out because he figures Bertolt cares about the order. And he does, but he wants to listen to these records with this guy even more than he cares about his organization.

Jean settles on one album to play and puts it on the record player to listen to. He stretches out along side Bertolt and dances his fingertips over Bertolt's side. Bertolt assumes that Jean is actually really good at this even though this isn't actually the case. If Bertolt really knew, he would know that Jean is terrified about whether or not Bertolt will reject him. But they start to get comfortable to the music and make out like a bunch of horny teenage boys if horny teenage boys cared about the minimalist music of James Blake.

Then Jean backs away and takes off his shirt. Bertolt stares at Jean with his pale skin and lightly defined body. Jean looks away in embarrassment even though Bertolt is cooing something about how amazing Jean looks. But Bertolt realizes Jean isn't bothered about being shirtless. Rather, as Jean pulls his pants down, it's the outline of his cock in his boxers that makes Bertolt understand the embarrassment. So Bertolt almost tears his shirt and pants off to join Jean- so that he's not alone. Jean seems fascinated with everything about Bertolt's body. They're kneeling across from each other simply touching one another. Bertolt has been with other people, but for some reason, this all seems more intimate than anything he's experienced- and Jean is practically a stranger.

Despite how fast things are already going for Jean and Bertolt, there's some unspoken agreement between the two about where they really want to go this afternoon. Kissing is completely fine. So is ass grabbing and rubbing the other's cock with his own. But they aren't completely comfortable with the idea of fingering each other or outright fucking each other, and when they realize they're both thinking this, they laugh and kiss in this understanding.

Jean slides down between Bertolt's legs and kisses the tip of Bertolt's cock. Bertolt's mind is spinning at the reality. Jean teases Bertolt with long licks. At one point, Jean's mouth is around the head of Bertolt's cock with his tongue swirling around it while his hand is moving up and down the shaft. Bertolt closes his eyes shut trying hard not to just come. At the same time, he can't take the teasing. He can't handle the perfect smirk on Jean's face as he starts to bob up and down on Bertolt's cock. Bertolt decides then, as Jean's fingers press deeper into his thighs, that he can't restrain himself any longer. He starts to grind himself a bit into Jean's mouth and pulls at Jean's hair to bring Jean's perfect mouth further down his cock. Jean coughs a bit before he readjusts and just goes with it. Jean is too good at this, and soon Bertolt can't prevent himself from basically fucking Jean's face. Before long, any last piece of control Bertolt has disappears. He is no longer the cool and distant guy that keeps people from seeing that he's a mental mess inside. Jean drives this point while he sucks Bertolt in such a way that Bertolt loses himself over the pleasure and comes into Jean's mouth.

Bertolt sees Jean's smirk as he swallows before Bertolt drops back down and almost passes out. Everything feels intense when someone else is giving you pleasure, Bertolt thinks, especially when that person is someone you basically just met and sort of taken with. He hasn't had sex since he broke up with Reiner, a person who he knew forever before he let that person have sex with him. Jean plops right beside Bertolt and smiles with the satisfaction that can only come from making the person in front of him come. Bertolt knows he should be more terrified, but he figures this probably is a fluke- that Jean will be bored after this is all finished. It doesn't matter how many times Jean says Bertolt's name or how enthusiastic Jean was to pleasure Bertolt. Bertolt is positive Jean will leave forever after this all ends, and so now he just feels desperate to make Jean stay.

In the back of his head, Bertolt knows he probably doesn't need to do much to make Jean stay. After all, Jean looks painfully hard as if just a touch would make him come. So Bertolt leans over Jean to grab some lube from his nightstand. He sees Jean's eyes widen, but Bertolt reassures Jean with a tender kiss. Bertolt puts some lube into the palm of his hand and gingerly reaches for Jean's cock. Jean looks absolutely relieved as Bertolt's hand moves slowly up and down his length. Jean places his arms around Bertolt's neck and starts to kiss Bertolt. It's enough to slightly distract Bertolt who is now so lazily stroking Jean that it seems like Jean is doing more of the moving. Bertolt guesses this doesn't really bother Jean because Jean is basically moaning into Bertolt's mouth while his hands seem to be all over Bertolt's body. But Bertolt starts to rub his thumb over the head over Jean's cock, and Jean whines. He looks down into Jean's eyes and sees Jean carried away in lust, looking for release. Then Bertolt quickens the pace. He likes how Jean now is fucking his fist desperately while he's attempting to articulate whatever it is he's thinking. Instead, Jean is incoherently muttering something about Bertolt in French. So Bertolt says the first dirty French thing he can remember from his college days.

"_Fuck… Yes… Yes. Say more. Please Bertolt_," Jean says.

Bertolt complies and finds himself getting just as turned on by what he's saying. His other hand grabs Jean by the hair and pulls him close so he can smother Jean with a kiss. Jean's hands are still around Bertolt's neck, but now his arms hold Bertolt tighter. Jean's face hides in the crook of Bertolt's neck, his tongue sliding across the skin. Then suddenly, Jean bites down on Bertolt's shoulder and cries Bertolt's name as he comes. Bertolt holds Jean tight as Jean then slumps in his arms.

When Jean comes to, he kisses Bertolt and gives him the kind of smile that makes Bertolt's heart break because he knows this is probably a one-night stand. After all, what else can you call two guys that just met fucking? This is the reality of it all even if Jean is cutely cuddling with him. He just hates that he feels like Jean is probably _the one_- the one that he knows he'll fall in love with and the one that will probably break his heart always.

The silence during this all makes Bertolt kind of uncomfortable. He hasn't had this kind of interaction in a while. So he awkwardly gets up and puts on a new record. He's self-conscious about how he's just naked, deciding on which record to listen to next while Jean is just leaning back and watching him.

"So, tell me about yourself," Jean says.

"Huh?" Bertolt says.

Bertolt turns around and straightens his body stiffly. He wants to tell Jean that it's okay to not talk to him because he doesn't want to fall for Jean more than he already is starting to.

"Just tell me anything about you. Like what you like. Or if you want to talk to music, then we can talk about that," Jean says.

"Why do you want to know?" Bertolt asks.

Jean shrugs as Bertolt turns around and puts the record on the spindle. New music fills the room, and Bertolt feels his heart settle down again. He joins Jean back onto the bed and thinks about trying to avoid Jean, but Jean grabs Bertolt by the hips and pulls him towards himself.

"Because, I want to know all about you," Jean says.

"Does it really matter?" Bertolt says.

"Look, I know we skipped a few steps and pretty much went head first as far as the relationship game is concerned, but I don't think I want to end everything right here and now."

Jean looks away and scratches his hair.

"I understand if you don't feel the same way. I mean… you probably just thought I was really easy, and that I was a fuck and run kind of guy. But honestly I'm not. This is the first time I've done this- at least while pretty much sober… This is what I was talking about. I always fuck this kind of stuff up. I do shit like this when what I want is a relationship, and then the other person doesn't want anything to deal with me because I'm needy as fuck… and just everything," Jean said.

"I didn't think you were that kind of guy…" Bertolt said.

"What?"

"Well… I'm actually just really… nervous. I don't normally do anything like this either. I just wasn't sure if you really wanted to see me again."

"That can't be any further from the truth. I like you, and I want to get to know you. I want to see you again and again."

Bertolt smiles and places a kiss on Jean's forehead.

"German is my first language. Polish is my second. I didn't learn English until I was six, and my family moved here," Bertolt says.

"Huh?" Jean says.

"You asked me to tell you about myself."

"Oh… yeah. So tell me more."

"So what do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"Okay… well this one time in college…"


End file.
